


Tumblr prompts

by PuppiesRainbowsSadism



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:43:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 17,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuppiesRainbowsSadism/pseuds/PuppiesRainbowsSadism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of all the works I've posted on Tumblr (puppiesrainbowssadism.tumblr.com). Entirely Sastiel and Wincest. (Featuring Wincestiel, but not many people prompt that.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sastiel (T)

**Author's Note:**

> Non-sexual body paint. Spoilers for 8.23 and season 9.

Cas isn’t sure he’s comfortable with this, for several reasons.

He understands Sam’s need to comfort him; it is a quality that has been ingrained in him since he was small, since he began having thoughts about destiny and purity. Sam feels a constant need to prove his worth, even if he believes he’ll never be able to atone for his sins. Especially because he believes that, actually, because he is so quick to take up the blame, he has to make sure that no one ever feels as guilty or lost or worthless as he himself feels.

Cas understands that; he does. He has been caught in the same viscous loop for what feels like forever. (The fact that a handful of years feels like an eternity to him is a sign of his humanity, but Cas really doesn’t want to dwell on that at the moment.)

"Sam, I don’t — "

"Just. Let me do this. Please." It is a plea in his voice, and Castiel would rather die (again) than deprive him of this — like everything else he had taken from the Winchesters.

"Are you still having nightmares?" he asks instead. Sam takes his dismissal as permission and straddles Cas’s back where he lays on the bed. They are both bare from the waist up, and in a previous life, Cas would have taken a moment to appreciate that. But not now:  Now, he is too tired, and this something Sam needs — something they both need, as Sam has already argued.

The laugh that punches out of Sam’s chest is dry and humourless. Castiel is as inept as ever at recognising intonations and nonverbal signals, but he is learning.

"I’ve never  _not_  had nightmares, Cas.” That is the easy answer:  Blame it on the hunting life, blame it on the demons and monsters and spirits, blame it on memories of fire, silver bullets, and hex bags. That is not what Cas is referring to, and they both know it; but the first touch of the freezing paint to his shoulder blade startles Cas enough that he forgets to press his point.

He wants to say that this hurts more, that it isn’t comforting at all, just rubbing salt in a fresh wound, but the fact is that his skin still feels like it is aflame where his wings were burned away, and the creamy white paint is soothing where it touches, the kiss of the brush gentle against his scars.

There is no visible damage, of course. There are no burns or scars on Jimmy’s skin; all the damage is concealed, like his wings and his halo once were, and Cas has no plans on confessing to Sam the true extent of the damage. For some unfathomable reason, Sam blames himself for Castiel’s newfound humanity, no matter how often he is explicitly told it is not his fault.

The first layer of paint quickly dries against his heated skin. It is tacky, and then crumbling, constricting, but it grounds Castiel, makes him feel at home in what is now his own body.

"Jess was the one who taught me how to paint," Sam explains off-offhandedly. It is a wonder how he can speak so comfortably of her when Dean’s mention of her death (was it really only a few weeks ago?) was so visibly crushing.

Cas doesn’t mention this, as Sam dips a new brush in a tawny-gold paint and begins detailing. Instead, he replies, “Good, so you can make me beautiful.”

Muffled by his arms and a pillow, Cas half wishes that Sam won’t hear, but the brush stills as soon as the first wing is completely and beautifully accented, and Cas can feel Sam lean forward, his breath ghosting over his ear, body giving off heat like a furnace.

"You’re always beautiful, Cas." Sam’s voice shakes slightly, as it does when he doesn’t want to reveal any emotion that could be translated into weakness. In this case, it is sadness, and maybe love. "I’m sorry you don’t see that."

For a moment, Cas thinks Sam is going to kiss him, or at least allow Cas a chance to take the initiative. But then he is moving back to finish the other wing, and Castiel suddenly feels starved for Sam’s touch.

They hadn’t been intimate since before Samandriel’s death, and Cas was beginning to fear that they had somehow fallen apart. He now realises why they both need this:  Cas has one lifetime left to live — who the fault belongs to is not important — and Cas knows that he wants to spend the rest of it with Sam. But, if Sam is not ready to pick up where they left off, Cas will gladly work at whatever pace he needs until enough of the guilt is out of the way to let truth slip through.


	2. Wincest (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussion of bondage. Literally just Sam and Dean communicating about their kinks.
> 
> I imagined this taking place around season 7 as I wrote it, but there's no indication of that, so no spoilers and no set season.

"You want to  _what_?” He didn’t mean for that to come out sounding so incredulous, and the way Sam recoiled made Dean want to bite his tongue. “I mean,” he amended awkwardly. “You really want to do that? After everything we — everything  _you’ve_  been through?”

Sam just nodded, too cowed to trust himself with words and too self-conscious to mention that the reason he wants to may or may not be  _because_  of everything he’s been through.

"It’s just," he tried, wincing internally at how much he sounded like a kicked puppy. "I mean, it’s not like we’re exactly vanilla in the first place, and I kind of — just — I dunno, I just want to."

"Hey, it’s fine. It’s just … I’m not real comfortable with tying you up like that. So, um, maybe you could … convince me?" God, this was awkward. They very rarely actually talked about things like this beyond  _You wanna?_ and  _Yeah_. They had a safeword already, just in case something went wrong, but there were so many ways that this could go sideways that Dean wasn’t quite willing to risk it just to get his rocks off.

"Convince you how?"

"Like, why do you want to?"

Sam blushed — honest to God blushed like a schoolgirl in sex ed — and hid behind the curtain of his hair. Dean let him; he wasn’t overly fond of this conversation either.

"I don’t know. I just — I like to feel, you know, helpless. But in a way I can control. And I … I like to be able to show that I trust you. In the biggest way I possibly can."

Dean’s chest didn’t seize at that admission, not at all. He would deny it until the day he died, and then some. But the way he brushed the hair out of Sam’s face, and how he cradled his brother’s face in both his hands:  That was all for Sam.

"I get where you’re coming from," he explained as gently as he could. "But I really don’t think I could do that to you. I mean what if something happens and we have to leave at a moment’s notice, or if we’re ambushed or something. I can’t just tie you up and hope that nothing happens."

He tried to translate all his apology and understanding into his expression, and maybe Sam understood because although he was obviously upset, he nodded and agreed that Dean had a point, and thanked him for at least hearing him out.

~~~~~

The next time they fell together, it was immediately after a hunt, high on adrenaline and too exhausted to sleep. As soon as they successfully wrestled Sam’s shirt off, Dean covered his hands with his own and wrapped them around the top of the headboard.

"Dean?"

"You know the drill, Sammy." And oh God, that was  _definitely_  the beginning of a command. Sam couldn’t help the shiver that snaked down his spine. “Don’t move your hands, not one inch, or this is over.”

Maybe Dean would never trust fabric or rope or handcuffs, but he could always trust Sam.

 


	3. Sastiel (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically just an excuse to talk about virginity and consent.

“ _No_.”

Cas is taken aback by the sheer amount of force behind the younger Winchester’s words, unused to such a firm response from such a gentle person.

"Sam?"

"I’m not taking that from you, Cas. I won’t. I  _can’t_.”

And now Castiel is angry, but he realises that anger is a secondary emotion and manages to display his confusion instead. “You are not taking anything from me. I’m giving it to you freely.”

"I know, but … " Sam’s voice fades into a sigh, and he clutches both of Castiel’s hands in his own. His gaze is level, unwavering, and startlingly sombre, if still slightly nervous. "Cas," he begins, his voice strong and even. "It’s one thing to be a human’s first time because we only live maybe eighty years, if we’re lucky. Life is incredibly short, but even then, it’s  … it  _means_  something to trust someone that much. But  _angels_  … ” Sam pauses to take a deep breath, gather his thoughts. He shifts his weight nervously and pleads with his eyes for Castiel to understand what he’s trying to say. “Cas, you’re immortal. You’re going to be living a long time after I’m gone and I don’t … I don’t want you to regret anything you might do now when you have an eternity ahead of you.”

Cas knows he istn’ going to be alive much longer, not with all the mistakes he has made in the past. Even if he went back to Heaven, pledged allegiance and submitted entirely, angels don’t forget anything. There will always be those who want him dead. He has less of an eternity than the Winchesters.

And even if he were so inclined to give up the good fight in exchange for a million lifetimes, he can’t imagine a life after Sam.

There are so many inaccuracies in Sam’s logic that Cas doesn’ know where to start correcting. He perches on the edge of the nearest bed to gather his thoughts, pulling Sam with him and shifting their hands so he could run his thumbs over Sam’s knuckles, a gesture he had learned his human found soothing.

"Humans," he begins softly, "Have an idea of virginity that does not exist in Heaven. You believe it is something that can be taken or lost at the man’s benefit and the woman’s detriment. (Or, I suppose, the penetrator’s benefit and the penetrated’s detriment; it is naive to think that virginity is only lost within heterosexual relationships.) It is a horrible double-standard that humans use as an excuse to harbour hate and demonstrate power. For angels, virginity is a very personal concept based upon consent."

"Cas — "

"Please, let me finish."

Sam closes his mouth on his reply, but his expression pleads for the chance to speak. Cas doesn’t deny Sam much, but denies him this.

"There are very few angels in Heaven or Hell that are virgins, Sam, by any definition of the term, and many of them have ‘given it up’ — to use your words — for much less than what we have together. It is only a sin if it produces a child, which should not be a problem in our case."

“‘Should not’?”

Cas allows the question, considering it is not directly linked to the problem at hand. “Angelic conception is … complicated, to say the least, and it is not limited to the vessel. But as I said, it should not be a problem, and I will let you know as soon as it does,  _if_  it does.”

Sam nods slowly, as if processing this information. He does not seemed startled or upset about the concept of conception, but his mind is most likely elsewhere anyway.

"I see what you’re saying, Cas," he replies after a few moments. "But I still don’t think I can do it."

Castiel nods in understanding. Sam is, after all, a human, and it is difficult to unlearn what one has been taught their entire life to believe.

"That’s fine, Sam," he assured, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek when his expression betrayed his doubt. "I understand how consent works, and I will never force you into anything. But my answer to you will  _always_  be ‘yes’”

Sam sighed — in content, relief, concern, it was impossible to tell — and led the breath into a chaste but meaningful kiss. The “thank you” was understood.

 


	4. Weecest (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean picked up a hobby one summer.

One summer, when Dad had dropped them in Texas for a few months while he handled a series of cases, Dean had taught himself guitar. There was nothing to do in the little walking town besides visit the dollar theater down the road from their apartment, and  _The X Files_  was bad the first time he saw it. So nearly every day, he would drive to the fields on the outskirts of town, where a few bluebonnets lingered from spring, and teach himself. Dean couldn’t read music or identify chords; he played by ear, and while he was no Hendrix, it worked well enough.

Sometimes Sam would come with him, bringing along a book — either for assignment or pleasure — and lay beside Dean in the tall grass. More than once, Dean had stood to leave as the sun began to sink only to find that Sam had fallen asleep. That was when he would retrieve the blanket he kept in the Impala and lay it over them, sleeping under the stars. Sometimes he laid out the blanket when they didn’t want to sleep.

By the end of the summer, Dean was able to play the melody of  _Don’t Fear the Reaper_. He played it for Sam the beginning of their last week in town, with some difficulty:  His little brother had stopped bringing books along and instead lost himself in the music and the cloying scent of decaying bluebonnets, leaning against Dean and closing his eyes, but rarely falling asleep.

When Dean got to the chorus, Sam nuzzled further into his chest, making him falter slightly.

"Dean. You used to sing this when I was little. I remember."

"Yeah?"

Sam sighed and placed a lazy kiss onto Dean’s collarbone. “Yeah.”

The day Dad was supposed to pick them up, Dean sold his guitar at the local flea market, knowing he wouldn’t be able to bring it with him. He hustled another one in a poker game three and a half years later and relearned how to play, just so he could play Blue Oyster Cult and remember the summer spent rolling in bluebonnets.

 


	5. Swesson (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean gets handsy in the elevator.

Truth be told, Dean was beginning to hate his job. Ever since he and Sam had taken out that spirit, he was restless. They both were, longing for the thrill of another hunt. But Dean was still reluctant to quit the job he had been working towards since high school in order to chase down ghosts with someone he had only met a couple of weeks ago.

But Dean was getting more and more antsy by the day, so he figured it was only a matter of time before he submitted his two weeks of notice.

Sam didn’t mind at all. He still hated his job; there was no getting around that, but as much as he wanted to be out fighting the good fight with Dean, truth be told, he liked the wait too. Because as soon as the elevator doors closed on them, Dean was on him like a starving man on a Christmas feast, and Sam gave back as much as he got. As the days passed and Dean became increasingly restless, his kisses got more heated, his touches more suggestive, and the frequency with which Sam would follow him into his office to finish what they had started increased dramatically.

Sam wanted little more than to be out doing what he thought he was meant to do. But he didn’t mind waiting.

 


	6. Sastiel (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spoilers for 8.23 and season 9.
> 
> Comfort after Cas's fall.

In all the time that Sam has known him, he has never once seen Cas cry. Now is no different, although this time, it’ because the pain Cas feels is too deep for tears. Sam has been there; he knows how it feels to feel empty and worthless, to wonder if life actually has any meaning and to come to the conclusion that it doesn’t. He knows what it’s like to feel a sadness so deep it touches your soul, a depression all-encompassing so no matter how you try, nothing can relieve it.

Sam knows. So he does what he wished someone had done for him:  He holds Cas at night, when his entire frame is trembling, breaths panicked but eyes dry. He holds Cas tight and mutters soft assurances into his hair.

 _Shh, it’s okay. It’ll be okay, I promise. Shh. Please don’t be sad, angel_.

Cas stills, every muscle tensed, but Sam does not regret for one instant what he said.

"Not any more," Cas mutters into Sam’s chest, where he is avoiding any and all eye contact. In a different situation, Sam would demand that Cas look at him fir this conversation. But as it is, it’s some ungodly hour of the morning and Cas is distraught.

So Sam just runs his fingers through Cas’s hair, messing it further, and places a chaste kiss to his temple.

"Yes, you are," he replies, soft and sympathetic but yielding no room for argument. "You’ll always be  _my angel_ , no matter what. I promise.”

 


	7. Wincest (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wish I could have done this idea more justice.
> 
> Sam in panties.

Dean’s thought about his encounter with Rhonda Hurley a lot, struggling with his sexuality in a way that he never had before. By now, he had reached a definitive conclusion to the whole experience:  Right idea, wrong guy.  
  
"Shit, Dean, you actually like this?"  
  
The tremor in Sam’s voice wasn’t missed, but it was ignored in favour of letting his eyes longer shamelessly on Sam’s legs — toned and muscular, wrapped in pastel blue stockings. Matching panties hugged his hips, the lace not quite enough to fully hold him, as Dean could see just how much Sam was enjoying this peaking up through the waistband.  
  
Dean pulled Sam forward to straddle his hips, his jeans doing little to hide his own excitement. He thumbed the head of Sam’s cock that was visible, the breathy moan and spreading blush he got in return almost enough of a reward.  
  
"Jesus Christ," Dean groaned into Sam’s chest (and god, what would that chest look like in a corset or a bustier?) “You have no idea what you do to me, Baby Girl.”


	8. Sastiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for Sassy Week 2013
> 
> Set during season 5 when Sam and Dean are separated.
> 
> WARNINGS: GORE, SUICIDE (decent ending). READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

This wasn’t the first time it had crossed his mind. Nor was it the third, or the ninth, or the hundredth. It had been on his mind constantly over the last few years, but there was always a reason to push the thoughts away, most of which revolved around Dean.

But now, with a bar job under a fake name that barely paid for a motel room, with nightly visits from Lucifer, with Dean pushing him as far away as physically possible, what reason could he possibly have? It had been days since he had even heard Dean’s voice, and now that his phone calls were being left unanswered, Sam was beginning to get the idea that, if Dean had any say in the matter, he would never see his brother again. Sticking around for Cas was just as tempting as sticking around for Dean. But Sam hadn’t heard from the angel in ages, and honestly, he didn’t blame him for wanting to keep his distance now that he had been promoted from “The Boy with the Demon Blood” to “Satan’s Vessel.” Beyond them, his only goal was to stop Lucifer and Michael at any cost. But really, if the entire Apocalypse could be put to an end by removing one of the archangels’ vessels from the equation, what was he even still doing here?

That was how Sam found himself in the dingy motel bathroom, folded into the bathtub and spinning the cylinder of a revolver with his thumb absently. Why the bathroom? Well, objectively, it was for the convenience of whoever found him and had to clean up the mess, but there was probably some kind of psychological factor too. When caught in a tornado, he and Dean would take cover in the bathtub with a mattress covering them, as was recommended by every motel manager ever. It also put one more door between him and the real world. Whatever the reason, it didn’t much matter.

He kept running through the reasons in his head, thinking clearly for the first time in a long time. It was logic that brought him here, not the fantasy of suicide that he had been entertaining for years, although that was definitely a factor, he guessed. The thing was, it was a cliché to think that everyone would be better off if he were dead, but no one would argue that Sam Winchester, The Boy with the Demon Blood, the person who let the Devil loose on Earth, and the one created solely to be Lucifer’s vessel, had any place in the world he was destined to end.

Sam at least wished his final thoughts had been something meaningful. Even something cliché, like  _I’m sorry_. Except, he really wasn’t sorry in the least.

 

It was not only with Dean that Castiel possessed a profound bond. Over time, as the scar on Dean’s shoulder came to fade entirely, so did their connection. Although, at the same time, he began to form a new sort of bond with both of the Winchesters, one based on devotion and love that allowed their thoughts to be broadcasted to him. Not just through prayer or when they were in the same room – any angel picks up on thoughts in those instances – but from virtually anywhere. Cas had become so conditioned to the sound of Winchester FM that he was usually able to tune it out, fading to background noise unless he specifically chose to listen.

But, for whatever reason, Sam’s thoughts were reaching him loud and clear:  Thoughts of Dean and Lucifer, of Jess and Ruby and Lilith. These were not strange thoughts for him, so it was a mystery as to why Cas was suddenly susceptible to them. Until, finally, the tone of Sam’s thought-voice stuck Castiel with fear:   _Sorry … but I’m not sorry_.

The thought physically hurt in a way that Cas had never felt before, perhaps because of the ominous nature of the thought or the way it seemed to be directed towards him. For whatever reason, Cas began to panic and flew to Sam’s room just in time for a gunshot to echo through the paper-thin walls.

Castiel’s blood ran cold. Sam was supposed to by lying low, under the radar. Who would have found him? More importantly, who would want to hurt him?

Cas listened intently; it was too silent, no indication of a fight or a struggle. Or any movement at all for that matter. He was torn between Warrior Mode and Concerned Guardian Angel mode. If he went in expecting a fight, he might accidentally hurt Sam. If he went in expecting only Sam, he might get hurt himself, in which case he would be no help.

The door gave easily under angelic strength, and Cas braced himself for either possibility.

He did not prepare himself for what he found:  Sam, slumped low in the bathtub, fully clothed, blood running down his hair and face in bright red rivers. Cas had seen Sam in every state of injury, and while he would never be used to the sight, he could handle it. This was different:  The gun resting loose in Sam’s hand was still smoking gently, and his soul, normally so vibrant and warm, the strongest soul Cas had ever seen, was dim, flickering with the effort of clinging to its body.

“No,” he whispered. “No,  _Sam_!”

He could help. He could fix this, but he had to work fast, because although he was an angel, he was not powerful enough to reverse death.

Cas pulled the gun away, more a precaution than anything, and cradled Sam’s face in his hands like he had so many times before. But Sam was not smiling now, nor crying, nor looking at him with the expression of awe and disbelief that he wore so often when they were together. His face was slack, and his body limp. Cas reached out with his Grace, filling the trail the bullet had left in its wake, sewing up the skin underneath his jaw, replacing the skull at the top of his head. Sam’s soul wasn’t flickering anymore, but it was still dim. That’s all Cas could do to help.

“Sam, please,” Cas sobbed, surprised to find he was crying but in too much pain to do anything about it.

Heartbreak. That’s what the pain was. It had to be; nothing else could hurt like this.

He was weak, but he managed enough strength to bring Sam into the bedroom. He was still unconscious, which was fine; he would need to heal himself where Cas could not. There would be some scarring, but no permanent damage. In the meantime, Cas cleaned up the blood and listened to Sam’s broken thoughts, which had a more calming effect on him than he had anticipated.

_Confusion? Not dead? Gun pain darkness not dead?_

_Wings. Flutter. Wings._

_Cas._

_Not dead. Cas._

_Not dead because of Cas._

Cas’s breath came a little easier when Sam’s thoughts straightened out, because he also started grumbling in his sleep, and from there it wasn’t long before he was forcing his eyes open. Although his eyes were glazed over from pain and sleep, his focus was sharp.

“Cas?”

“Hello, Sam.” Cas couldn’t help his relieved smile if he tried.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sam groaned. “I’m so sorry, Cas. I never meant for you to – “

“Stop talking,” Cas ordered. The last thing he needed to hear were false apologies. Of course Sam meant to die, and of course he would have found out about it. Saying that he never meant for Cas to find him was a stupid thing to say, and although he didn’t say it, it filled him with misplaced rage.

Cas pushed Sam’s hair out of his face, a gesture that had been used so often between them to mean comfort and understanding, to say without words that this was a safe place to speak.

“May I ask why?”

Sam laughed humourlessly, a sound that jarred Castiel’s bones and resonated within the shards of his heart. “Don’t ask stupid questions.”

Cas sighed, but he nodded in understanding. Of course he knew why. Perhaps it was silly to ask, but he needed to hear it from Sam himself. But now was too soon; he understood that.

“ _Cas_.” Sam grabbed his arm forcefully, suddenly urgent. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Dean.”

Cas’s heart broke further. Sam was practically dead by his own hand, and his main concern was still for his brother. Dean wouldn’t listen to anything he had to say about Sam anyway, too busy trying to push him away.

“It is not my place to do so,” was as close to a promise as Castiel was willing to come. He wouldn’t tell Dean unless he felt it was necessary.

Sam sighed in relief, his entire frame relaxing into the mattress. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

“Cas … I – I know I don’t have the right to ask for anything, not after, well,  _that_. But … can you stay? I just … I really don’t want to be alone.”

Cas was already climbing into the bed next to him, holding Sam tight to himself as if this were just another nightmare he had shivered himself awake from.

“Shh, Sam. You don’t have to ask.”

 


	9. Sastiel (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of the virginity conversation. Pure fluff.
> 
> Spoilers for 8.23 and season 9

“Cas?” Sam started nervously. “Could you, uh, come here for a second?”

Castiel’s first impression was that something was wrong. But I something were wrong, Sam would most likely be closer to panicking than shifting nervously and avoiding eye contact.

“Sam? What is it?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he assured in that strange way he had of knowing what Cas was thinking. “I promise. Just – please?”

Cas nodded hesitantly, wondering what could possibly have his human, a hardened hunter, no less, who had quite literally been to Hell and back, so on-edge.

Sam led them back to his room, which had only gotten a little more … home-like since the last time Cas had been there.

“I got you something,” Sam explained, reaching for something under his bed and emerging with a long white box. “And I … I completely understand if you don’t want it. I won’t be offended in the least. I just thought – “

“Sam. How will I know if I like whatever it is if you won’t let me see it?”

Sam sighed, meeting Castiel’s eyes for a fraction of a second, just long enough to see the uncertainty there, before nodding and handing the box over. As Cas lifted the lid, Sam sat on the edge of his bed and refused to look at him.

Cas took the coat by the shoulders and lifted it from the box so it unfolded itself neatly. It was a khaki, all too familiar trench coat, and all Cas could do was stare at it and try to process what he was seeing.

“It’s not the same one,” Sam explained quickly. “But it’s almost the same. And it’s brand new, so it’s all yours and not borrowed like the last one kind of was. But, I mean, I totally understand if you don’t – “ Sam was cut off with a grunt when he found himself wrapped in Castiel’s arms.

“I love it, Sam,” Cas muttered into his shoulder. “Thank you so much.” He hadn’t realised how much the coat had meant to him until he had chosen to leave it behind. He had felt vulnerable without it, and while that was a silly way to feel about a coat that offered little actual protection, it was a feeling he couldn’t shake. But even just holding this in his hands, even if it wasn’t the same coat, made him feel safe again, as if he had lost some crucial part of himself and had recovered it again.

Sam’s arms wrapped around him, and Cas let himself be held for what felt like the first time in years. There was security with Sam, he knew. Protection and warmth.

“Sam,” he began hesitantly. “Can I tell you something?”

“Of course.”

“Do you remember when I suggested we have sex, and you said no?”

Sam’s entire frame tensed with the memory. Yes, he did remember, and how many times had he regretted that decision? Still, Cas was alive and well now, so there was no reason to be feeling guilty about it now. Even though he couldn’t crush the feeling.

“Yeah,” Sam muttered, letting his arms fall away so he could look at Cas properly.

“And you said that you didn’t want me to regret anything we do together because I would have to live with it forever.”

Jesus, why couldn’t Cas just get to the point? Sam remembered the conversation; he didn’t need a play-by-play guilt trip. “Yeah, Cas, I remember.”

Cas sighed, struggling to put his feelings into words. “Sam, I … I understand that things are a little awkward between us even if I don’t understand why, but I think this is something I need to say to you. When you said that I would have to live with my decisions long after you’re gone, I thought … I didn’t want to. I  _don’t_  want to live without you, even now.”

“Cas – “

“Please, let me finish.” Sam didn’t try to speak again. “Now that I only have one lifetime to live, I want to spend it with you. If you’ll let me.”

“Cas, I … “ Sam swallowed thickly, his mouth having suddenly gone dry. “I know you’re not stupid and you know what it is you’re promising. It’s just – I mean … are you sure?”

Cas took Sam’s face in his hands, wishing he could will away the doubt and the self-depreciation that Sam always seemed to be drowning in. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I love you, Sam Winchester.”

“You always do that.”

Cas, who had been subtly leaning in in hopes of a kiss, sat back again in confusion. “Do what?”

“Use my whole name like that. You do it when you’re being serious.”

“Does it make my point more convincing?”

Sam’s smile was worth being denied the kiss. “In this case, yeah. I guess it does.”

 


	10. Sastiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunion sex.
> 
> Spoilers for season 7.
> 
> I'm not good at smut, but I'm practising. Please be gentle.

The reunion sex was brutal and angry. Sam was so confused, first thinking Cas was dead, holding onto hope when Dean came back alive, finally letting go when Dean kept insisting that he saw Cas die, only for him to return alive and healthy. Sam’s head was spinning, and not in a good way.

"I thought you were gone," he growled into Cas’s collarbone, which was already littered with bruises. "I thought I would never see you again. Do you have any idea how messed up I was? One of the last things I ever said to you was that I was concerned for your sanity. Not that I love you, or even some semblance of a goodbye."

"Sam," Cas groaned. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."

"Don’t be sorry. Just … " Sam sighed and bit his way up to Cas’s jaw, grinding his hips  _hard_ , depending on the pain to ground him. “ _Fuck me_ ,” he groaned into Cas’s ear. “Cas, please. I need you so fucking bad.”

Normally, Cas would have argued, but he was still reeling from how aggressive Sam had become as soon as Dean left. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and after so long of going without Sam’s touch, he wanted just as much as Sam was demanding.

When Cas took too long to respond, Sam growled — legitimately growled low in his chest — and shoved him towards the bed, pushing him down and pinning him there with his weight. Cas could have thrown him off in a heartbeat, but when Sam rut against him and leaned down for a violent kiss — more biting and suction than anything — he found he didn’t want to.

Sam forced a hand between them, tugging at the front of Cas’s slacks until he could force them down enough to pull his cock out.

"I’m gonna ride you, Cas," he whispered huskily against the angel’s lips, working to get his own jeans down around his knees. " _Fuck_ , Cas, I’m gonna ride you so fucking hard, until we both see stars.”

Sam sat up on his knees, reaching back to position himself over Cas’s cock.

"Sam, wait!" Cas interjected urgently, squeezing Sam’s hips hard enough to bruise. "Not like this. I won’t hurt you."

“ _Cas_ ,” Sam growled in warning, squeezing his shoulders as if to get his point across. “Please, I can’t wait; I need to feel you.”

"Sam, if you don’t slow down, I’m going to stop this all together."

Sam bit his lip to refrain from pouting and weighed his options. Ultimately, there was no way he could force Cas to do anything, and even if he could, he would never hurt him like that.

Taking Sam’s silence as acquiescence, Cas trailed his fingers from the nape of Sam’s neck down, all the way down, the gentle touch a startling contrast to the urgency still pounding through their veins.

"Sam," he began softly, finger pushing against Sam’s hole, but not quite breaching. "Remember when I made you come with only my Grace?"

It seemed like a lifetime ago, before the wall in Sam’s head came crashing down, but yes, he remembered. “Yeah, why — ?” He cut himself off with a cry as he felt the familiar yet alien sensation of Cas’s Grace, reaching up and inside him. The touch, somehow freezing and burning at the same time, alone was almost enough to set him off, and Sam was forced to grip the base of his cock to keep himself from coming simply from being stretched open.

"Shit,  _Cas_ ,” he groaned, whining as he felt the sensation fading until it was completely gone. Sam felt so empty and raw and immediately sat up to impale himself on Cas’s cock. It had been too long, he was too tight, and it hurt even with the angelic preparation, but he revelled in the pain, taking it as proof that Cas was alive and with him, that he wouldn’t disappear if he closed his eyes.

"Sam?" Cas questioned, worry knit between his eyebrows as he rubbed soothing circles into Sam’s hips. "Are you alright?"

In lieu of a response, Sam raised himself up only to slam back down, drawing a cry of ecstasy from Cas and one of pain from himself. He immediately set a brutal pace, and while the pain never disappeared completely, it eventually combined with pleasure until he couldn’t tell the two apart anymore.

"Cas," he pleaded, bringing his hands up to tangle in his hair and  _pull_. “ _Cas_ , please. Fuck,  _touch me_.”

Cas was wrapped up in his own pleasure, knowing that this would be over much sooner than he wanted, as it had been over a year since he had touched Sam intimately. Even with his climax building, he had enough presence of mind to tug on Sam’s cock. It was sloppy and off-rhythm, but it was enough to make Sam cry out as he came, his hole clenching and fluttering around Cas and setting off his own release.

Sam collapsed forward, hot and sweaty and panting. Rather than push him off, Cas wrapped his arms around him, content to just hold him as they came down from their post-orgasm high. It took him a moment to realise that Sam’s ragged breaths had turned into sobs.

"Sam?" He refused to look up from where his face was buried in the junction between Cas’s neck and shoulder. "Sam, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?"

"No! No, Cas, I’ll be fine, I promise. I’m just happy to have you back."

Cas immediately relaxed, relieved beyond words that Sam wasn’t injured.

"I’m sorry I ever left," he responded sincerely, shifting slightly under Sam’s weight.

Immediately, Sam’s hands flew to his shoulders, digging his nails into the flesh. “Don’t leave!” he begged. “Please, don’t leave.”

"Shh, Sam, I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I just thought we might be more comfortable in a different position."

After a moment of consideration, Sam nodded and shifted to the side, pulling the comforter over them both just in case Dean returned prematurely, and hugged Cas’s waist like a vice, settling his head under his chin contentedly. Cas smiled warmly as his human’s breathing evened out as he drifted into sleep.

 


	11. Wincest (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean's anniversary. Pure fluff.

Dean was such a romantic. Sam knew he faced certain death if he ever told anyone, but that didn’t stop him from absolutely loving the time they spent alone, when Dean would do little things like cook his favourite meal or play with his hair. He remembered every birthday and anniversary and always found some way to make it special.

This was no different. It was their anniversary, and Dean had suggested that Sam take an afternoon nap, since he had been up all night researching a potential case. Sam wanted to refuse, but he was cut off by a yawn, so he just nodded and dragged his feet to their room. Dean had specifically chosen to stay in a quaint little hotel with a one-bedroom suite for his purposes, whatever they were, and Sam had never been so thankful for his brother keeping secrets as he collapsed into the wonderfully warm, soft,  _clean_  bed and promptly nodded off.

It was evening when Sam woke up, but only barely. The sun was still peeking over the horizon and offering pinks and purples to the dark blue that dominated the sky. There was a tapping on the window, and Sam was tempted to ignore it, but when it didn’t stop for several minutes, he grumbled and pulled the curtain back warily. Instead of a bird like he suspected or a monster as he feared, he saw Dean standing on the grass below the window, preparing to pitch another pebble at the glass.

Sam immediately threw open the window. “Dean?”

"Hey, Sammy," Dean smiled, looking at him in that way he had that just screamed  _I’m proud of you_. That was how Dean said I love you.

"What are you doing?"

"C’mon down and find out."

Sam’s wide grin was entirely genuine, something he saved for Dean and Dean alone. He quickly closed the window, making sure the salt line was undisturbed, and ran down the stairs two at a time. Dean was waiting for him when he stumbled out the door, one arm occupied with a basket and the other pulling him in for a chaste kiss.

"C’mon, follow me," he smiled.

"Where?" It was a silly question; Sam would follow him anywhere.

"It’s a surprise."

"Okay, what’s the basket for?"

"That’s a surprise too."

Sam just hummed in acceptance and took Dean’s free hand in his own, interlacing their fingers. There was once a time that Dean would have gotten flustered and pulled his hand back, but now he just smirked and squeezed Sam’s hand.

They walked uphill and into the forest, Sam growing a little wary as the sky got darker and the woods grew thicker, but Dean just pressed forward until the sun had completely set and they had come across a clearing. The sky was still a little too light for the stars to be out, but Sam knew that, this far away from any light pollution, they would be a wonder to look at.

Dean pulled the old blanket they kept in the Impala out of the basket and laid it on the ground for them to sit on, setting the basket at a corner and pulling out containers of food, plates, silverware, and a bottle of Merlot.

"Dean," Sam began in wonder, grinning again. "What is all this?"

"It’s a picnic. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one."

Sam hit his shoulder playfully, but Dean just caught his wrist and pulled him in for a real kiss, only parting when they began to feel lightheaded, and even then only retreating far enough to pant into each other’s mouths.

"Happy anniversary, Sammy," Dean breathed against Sam’s lips.

 


	12. Wincest (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes Sam struggles with everyday things.
> 
> Spoilers for season 5 and 6 (references to Sam's time in the Cage). Set in season 8, but no spoilers for that.
> 
> WARNING: This is about Sam's PTSD after Hell. Possible triggers for gore. Proceed with caution.

Sam can’t eat white meat anymore. Dean doesn’t know that, so whenever he cooks chicken or pork, Sam uses a little sleight of hand to avoid any awkward situations and repeatedly praises his brother for such a delicious meal.

Sam can’t handle the smell of burning sage. But Dean doesn’t know that, and it never occurs to him to ask why Sam always elects to check the salt lines and Devil’s Traps instead of cleansing the area with smoke.

Sam doesn’t like the sound of leaves and twigs snapping under heavy footfalls, or of snow crunching and molding under his weight, even though he used to find satisfaction in it. If Dean notices the change, he doesn’t say anything. He probably never even knew how much Sam used to love the sensations in the first place.

Sam can’t tolerate the cold nearly as much as he used to. This, Dean notices, because sometimes Sam goes a little crazy with the heaters and the blankets and gives himself a fever. He figures it’s just a side-effect of getting older, not to mention the way the trials had left him burning from the inside out.

Sam can’t bear to look at Dean after he’s been outside for any length of time, because no matter whether it’s freezing and raining sideways or pushing a hundred without a cloud in sight, Dean comes back with wide eyes and red-tinged skin, and the first time Dean gets a sunburn in years and his skin begins to peel, Sam has a panic attack and refuses to calm down until the dead skin is hidden underneath thick flannel and he is wrapped in Dean’s arms. He is rocking them back and forth like he used to when Sam was still innocent enough to be afraid of thunder, shushing him gently. His embrace feels too hot, suffocating, but Sam is glad for the heat because at least it isn’t the cold.

After his breathing has evened out, Dean drags him to their room and makes him talk — about everything. How the quality and texture of white meat reminds him of human flesh being torn from its frame and the crunch of dead leaves is too reminiscent of crunching bones and snapping tendons. How burning sage was what Lucifer smelled like and how a cold front followed him everywhere. How Lucifer’s favourite torture involved horrific images of Dean, more often than not burned alive above them just as their mom and Jess had been. How seeing Dean in that position and knowing it was his fault hurt more than anything else he had ever experienced, on Earth or in the Cage.

Then Dean makes him shut up and has him compile a list of everything he knows of that might set him off.

"We’ll work through this," he promises. "Together, just like always. But you have to talk to me."

Sam doesn’t like to talk much when he can help it. It’s just one way he shelters himself from the world as much as he can. But he nods and promises Dean he’ll try.

 


	13. Sastiel (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam taught himself something for Cas's sake.
> 
> Spoilers (kind of, not really) for 8.23 and season 9.

They were lying together comfortably when the soft rumble of Sam’s voice reached his ears:

“ _I love you, Castiel_.”

Cas smiled to himself and kissed the top of Sam’s head where it rested on his chest.

“ _I love you too_.”

After a moment, Sam sat up so he could look Cas in the eyes, a small smirk on his face and his features relaxed. It was so rare to see Sam look so content that Cas cherished every moment.

"Cas," he began, as if he didn’t already have the ex-angel’s full attention. " _I love you_.”

He hadn’t realised it before, as hearing the words tumbling from Sam’s lips had just sounded natural to him. But when used against his nick name, it finally clicked with Cas that Sam wasn’t speaking English.

“ _Olani hoath ol ta_ ,” he repeated in wonder, his heart swelling at the sound of his native tongue in his human’s voice.

 


	14. Wincest (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam categorises their sex life.

Sam has different terms for each kind of sex they have.

After a hunt, when they’re high on adrenaline and too exhausted to actually sleep; when they’re battered and bloody and sometimes drunk, depending whether or not either of them needed stitches and how many; when what they need more than anything in the world is the reassurance that the other is alive and no serious damage has been done — that’s fucking.

When nothing is on TV, there are no hunts lined up, they’re set for cash, there are no concerts or movies worth seeing, nothing going on that could possibly be more satisfying than revelling in the warmth of their own bodies — that’s just sex.

When they don’t need reassurance that they’re alive so much as that there’s something worth fighting for, when passion seizes their hearts in their chests and makes it hard to breathe, tears down the emotional barriers they build for protection, when thoughts such as  _beautiful_ and  _love_ and  _forever_ cross their minds and sometimes their lips — that is making love.

And after one of them has come back from some horrible fate — death, destiny, or worse — when it’s not about the physical connection, but rather it’s a gateway to something more ethereal; when it’s about the unspoken, inseverable bond between them that is so often labeled as “codependency,” as if it were that simple — then it was something that Sam didn’t have a name for. That no one had a name for, not in any human language. Then, it was the communion of two souls meant to be one.


	15. Wincest (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam hates his scars. Dean tries to convince him otherwise.

Sam still has scars.

It's probably due to the fact that Dean was dragged from Hell by his soul, forced back into a body that was beginning to deteriorate and had to be remade piece by piece. Whereas Sam was pulled by his body, leaving that crucial part of him behind, but it made no difference to the fact that Sam  _physically_ jumped into the Pit and was  _physically_ pulled out.

Whatever the reason, Sam still has scars that Dean can count -- the bite marks on his arm from his first official hunt, burns from Jessica, scratches from Madison, a bullet wound from Bela, a scar in his spine that Dean didn't prevent and a dozen more from when he couldn't, being preoccupied in a hole in the ground as they happened.

Sam hates them. He didn't love them before, but now he especially loathes the marks in his flesh, now that he's back. When Dean came back, the Righteous Man raised from Perdition, his skin was flawless save for the burn of Grace on his shoulder. Sam believes he deserves these scars. They reflect him at his core:  A monster, hopeless, helpless, destined for destruction. The blemishes must run deep enough to mar his soul if nothing angelic can banish them, and what does it say of a person with an ugly soul? It was known since before his birth that he would be the one to end the world, and he was supposed to be paying penance in the Cage for his own personalised brand of original sin. Instead, he's walking the Earth as if he has any right to do so, but at least he has the scars to remind him of how tainted he really is.

It's a bad place of mind, and Dean doesn't know how to stop it besides to let his own skin be ripped to shreds, let himself bleed for the cause. _This is my body, broken for you_. Not broken by his own hands because that would be counter intuitive, but he's reckless, and Sam definitely notices. It's a vicious cycle of they've fallen into, of hating themselves and Canonizing the other, but that's what  _other halves_ are for.


	16. Wincest (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in season 5, when Sam and Dean are split up.
> 
> Warnings for mentions of suicide, but no actual character death.

While Sam was away, Dean dreamt. He dreamt of Sammy, young and careless and so, so innocent. He dreamt of It’s-Sam and his teenage angst and how Dean was the only one who really knew what why Sam was so angry all the time. He dreamt of Sam, fresh from Stanford, his Ivy League vocabulary reduced to nothing in the face of overwhelming grief, and Dean remembered how frightened he was that his little brother would fall into the same mourning habits their father had. He dreamt, more than anything, of how, just as Sam was becoming Sammy once again, he began to beg for death, made Dean promise to kill him, threatened to do it himself. He dreamt most vividly of a body sprawled out on his bed, warm and familiar, and Dean knew in those dreams that it was his Sammy, although the face was bloodied and mangled. There was always a gun, smoking from the barrel, held loosely in his hand, and the remnants of the shot ringing in Dean’s ears. He realised, every time, that he was only seconds too late.

It was after an endless series of these dreams that Dean finally gave in and called Sam, hoping that his brother would pick up and knowing that, even when he did, he would never know how close to the truth his dreams might have been.


	17. Wincest (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean really likes holding hands.

Dean’s favourite thing in the world is holding hands, and he does it every chance he gets.

Walking downtown with Sam, whether they be sight-seeing between hunts or just picking up some necessities.

Passing the time spent on the road by running his thumb over Sam’s knuckles as he dozes.

Tracing the scars and wrinkles and calluses as Sam’s enormous paw rests over his heart at the end of the day.

Simply holding Sam’s hands with his own when he needs the reassurance that the world does not deserve another Winchester sacrificed for its purpose, that Dean has always loved him and always will, more than anything.


	18. Sastiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam teaches Cas about touch.

Castiel is sensitive after he Falls, as if his human senses are working overtime to compensate for the angelic ones he lost. He finds it overwhelming, most days. But not moments like these, when he is laying naked save for his briefs on the bed he and Sam share, soft cotton covering his eyes as Sam tries to help him become accustomed to these new sensations.

"What’s this?" he asks softly, running something gently over his bare stomach, making the muscles there twitch and Castiel make an undignified squeak.

"It’s like pain?" he guesses, his voice tilting up at the end because he knows it’s not right.

"No. We talked about it earlier, remember? It’s not a bad thing, just annoying, sometimes. Starts with a ‘T.’"

"Tickle?"

"Yeah," and Cas can hear the smile in Sam’s voice, knows he is being praised even if he can’t sense it anymore.

"What’s this?" he asks again as something slides down the centre of Cas’s chest, his muscles twitching again but for a different reason.

"Cold," Cas hisses. He’s familiar with cold, having felt it a lot recently.

"Yes. Good.

"What’s this?" Sam asks one more time, a new sort of timbre in his voice, and Cas feels something rough (calloused skin, his brain supplies. Sam’s skin) traveling up his thigh (tickle), hovering between his legs (warm), before wrapping around his half-hard cock (arousal). Cas recognises the sensation until Sam’s hand begins moving, up and down, smoothly, like a pendulum. He’s never had a sense of rhythm before, but it makes his head spin as he realises exactly what he had been missing and his blood rushes south.

"Cas?" Sam breathes, suddenly right by his ear ( _warm, moist, pleasure_ ). “What is this?”

It’s heat and lust and love, and it’s  _Sam_ , which Cas has felt a hundred times before but now it’s new and strange and exciting and, Cas is still lucid enough to realise,  _wet_.

And then it’s explosive and overwhelming and pleasurable.

And calm and relaxed and happy.


	19. Wincest (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt from warsanwincest @ Tumblr: "Dean shaking with sensitivity and crying with pleasure as Sam fucks him."

Sometimes Dean just needed to break down. He sure as hell would never admit it, but he usually didn’t need to. Sam would just give him a  _look_  before he was being pinned against the nearest surface with two hundred pounds of muscle.

Tonight he was lucky. Tonight it was a bed that his brother had shoved him into, pinning him down with one hand between his shoulder blades as his other hand fumbled with Dean’s jeans. He didn’t even bother taking them off, just shoving them past the curve of Dean’s ass, just far enough to latch his mouth onto his hole.

Dean groaned into the comforter, writhing under Sam’s touch until he pulled off to growl, “Hold still.” Dean immediately shivered and obeyed without a thought. It never failed to amaze him how his little brother could manhandle him with muscle and words alike.

Sam tortured him with kitten licks and the barest hint of pressure, never enough to press inside, until Dean was holding back whines from the back of his throat.

“ _Sam.”_

"Not yet."

Dean let one of the whines loose, embarrassed for it but knowing it was one step towards getting him what he wanted. His hands itched to move as Sam finally,  _finally_ , let his tongue dip into him just a fraction.

 _God_ , it felt like ages before Sam finally stopped teasing and commanded him to strip. Dean obeyed eagerly, throwing his jeans off as quickly as he could, his cock standing up proudly, already leaking at the tip. The look in Sam’s eyes could only be described as  _hungry_ , and it sent a shot of burning need through Dean’s veins.

"On your knees," Sam demanded, reaching for the lube they kept by the bed. There was very little warning before one of Sam’s lube-slick fingers was pumping into him, and Dean cried out a lot louder than he had meant to. It had been a while since he’d needed this, and it burned deliciously when Sam added a second finger, a bit too soon.

"Sam!"

"Not yet."

"Please," he sobbed.

"Not even close," Sam growled, working in a third finger and groaning at the loud, keening mewl that was Dean’s reply.

Dean lost track of time as his brother fingered him, not that it mattered with the way he was alternating between hard and punishing, and slow and gentle — between hitting his prostate and making him scream on every thrust and avoiding it completely — until Dean was clawing at the sheets, pleading into the pillows, “ _Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease_.”

"You know the drill," Sam snarled in his ear, pulling his fingers out and ignoring the whine Dean gave at the loss. "I’m gonna fuck you as long as I want, and don’t you don’t get to come until I say. Yeah?"

Dean couldn’t wrap his tongue around coherent words, settling on a nod instead, savouring the way Sam was taking charge, using him like he didn’t have any choice in the matter because Dean didn’t  _want_ the choice.

The anticipation was agony as Sam lined up, pushing into him slowly. Dean swore he could feel every vein and ridge of his little brother’s cock as it dragged against him, hitting every nerve he had and stretching him wider than he could imagine right then. The drag back out was even slower, even more tortuous. Dean needed fast, needed rough, but Sam was going to take his damn sweet time with him, and they both knew it. Dean was quaking again after only a handful of minutes, his little aborted groans and pleas escaping his mouth without permission and the pleasure in his stomach burning slowly, curling tighter with each slow draw in and out.

"Sam," he gasped, "Sam, I’m — "

"You’d better not," Sam ordered, punctuating with a hard thrust forward, making Dean scream.  _God_ , he needed to come. His entire body was a live wire, feeling every thread of the comforter against his skin, the cries ripping through his throat, the tears falling unbidden down his cheeks, and the hard press of Sam’s fingers on his hips doing nothing to alleviate the burning  _need_  thrumming through his body. He knew it wouldn’t be long before his brother felt it too, before he finally let them both come. But it was worth the wait because the release was so much better when they were letting go of everything.

 


	20. Wincest (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for an anon who wanted "Wincest - Dean being shy and embarassed about saying "dirty words" (and stuttering and blushing) and Sam teasing him about it, making him say explicitly what he wants Sam to do to him. No "you-know-what"s and no excuses :) (Dean still being bottom though)"

"What do you want, Dean?" Sam groaned into his brother’s neck, running his hands teasingly down his thighs, up his stomach, pausing briefly to roll his nipples under deft fingers before making their way back down again. They were both achingly hard, but this was going nowhere if Dean couldn’t tell him exactly what he wanted.

"You know exactly what I want," Dean growled, although Sam knew the flush across his face was less from pleasure and more from embarrassment.

"Tell me anyway."

"Sam, I swear to God — "

"You’re usually so good at ordering me around," Sam teased, knowing that if Dean had buttons to push in bed, they were the same ones that worked anywhere else.

Dean sighed and muttered something that sounded like  _I’m gonna kill you_ , quickly followed by something much less intelligible.

"What was that?"

If it weren’t for his furious blush, Dean’s glare might have been intimidating. All the same, it just made Sam laugh. “I  _said_ I want you to eat me out.”

"Yeah? Want me to lick open that tight ass of yours?"

“ _Jesus fuck_ — yes, okay?”

"And then what?"

"We’ll worry about that when we get to it."

Sam was just as desperate for it as Dean, and the way Dean had one hand in his hair, trying to push him down, almost made Sam let it slide. Almost.

"Nuh-uh, babe, you have to tell me exactly what you want."

Dean growled and fisted both hands in Sam’s hair, pulling until they were eye-to-eye and Sam was gasping out in mixed pleasure-pain.

"You’re going to eat me out, tongue me open," Dean grit through his teeth, obviously still embarrassed but desire finally winning out. "Then I’m gonna pin you down and ride the hell out of you.  _That’s_ what I want.”

And damn if Sam wasn’t completely on board with that plan, his cock twitching just as the idea as he shoved Dean’s legs farther apart and dove in.


	21. Sastiel (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt for booksandwings @ Tumblr: "Sastiel + getting distracted while watching a Valentines Day movie. :3"

It was their first Valentine’s Day together, and Sam wanted to do it right, within the constraints of their particular lifestyle, of course. They weren’t exactly comfortable going out with the angels waging war on Earth, so their Valentine’s was an indoor affair, but no less romantic — clumsy ballroom dancing, candle-lit dinner, the whole deal.

Currently, they were snuggled up on Sam’s bed, watching some Nicholas Sparks film. Sam wasn’t exactly a fan, but it was supposedly the epitome of romance tropes. And anyway, it didn’t matter much when they spent a majority of their time making out like teenagers while the movie played in the background.

Cas was trying his best to lick his tonsils, one hand tangled in his hair, pulling just hard enough to be painful, the other pressing insistently between Sam’s legs, his purpose impossible to misinterpret.

Sam eventually had to pull away for air and cursed, not for the first time, that Cas didn’t require it. Not that he was complaining about how his angel was working magic with his lips against his jaw, making Sam groan softly as he caught his breath.

"W-what about the movie?" Sam protested, not the slightest bit serious. He could feel Cas’s chuckle vibrate under his skin.

"The movie is over, Sam."

Sure enough, when Sam looked up, the credits were just coming to an end. “Oh,” he laughed, slouching in his seat so Cas was more or less laying on top of him, the weight more than welcome. “Carry on, then.”


	22. Sastiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Could you do Sam putting Cas into a chastity belt so that he can't come whilst he has a vibrating butt plug in him whilst they drive to the next motel. However, Dean takes an annoyingly long time to take the hint and leave, but at that point Sam realises he left his duffle with the keys to the belt at the other motel, and Dean has taken the car so they have to wait until the next day to actually get Cas out, then they have amazing awesome, kinky sex?"
> 
> I took a helluva lot of liberties with this one, but it really gave me a hard time.

"What do you  _mean_ you don’t have it?” Cas grit through his teeth. —-

It had started out as a great idea, Sam thought exasperatedly. Keep Castiel in a chastity belt for a few hours with a wireless vibrator against his prostate as they travelled from one town to the next. It was possibly the kinkiest thing they had ever done, but just the thought of bringing their lifestyle into a semi-public setting had them both half-hard and giggling with anticipation.

And okay, at first it was awesome. Neither of them could deny that. As always, Dean preferred driving the back roads. The patchy, pothole-ridden back roads that jostled Cas’s plug with every bump. Sam made sure Dean was blaring music before turning the plug on, hearing Cas’s startled yelp only because he was listening for it.

"You remember your safeword?" Sam muttered over the shoulder closest to the door.

"Don’t need it," Cas whispered back, his voice strained but smiling.

They stopped relatively early, and both Sam and Cas were really hoping to check into a motel first thing but Dean insisted on getting dinner first. Which was fine; Cas was getting a little frustrated, understandably, but it was still just a fun game at this point — see how well Cas could keep composed with the plug vibrating on its highest setting. As it turned out, very well.

And then finally,  _finally_ , Dean checked them into the motel. That was when the problems started, although they had graciously waited until Dean retired to his room before fighting.

—- “I  _mean_ ,” Sam snapped, “I don’t. Have. It. I must have left it at the last motel.”  _It_ being their spare duffle, the one that held their meagre collection of toys — and the key to the chastity belt.

"You’re joking," Cas laughed humourlessly. "Well that’s fantastic."

"It’s fine," Sam sighed, trying to bring some light into the situation. "So we’re playing a little longer than we planned. We’ll just go get it in the morning."

"Easy for you to say," Cas grumbled. Sam couldn’t help but be reminded of a petulant child. "You’re not the one stuck in this thing."

Sam pulled Cas into him gently, just content to hold him for a moment. But only a moment, because after that, Sam couldn’t stifle his laughter.

"This is just such a ridiculous situation."

~~~

Dean was surprisingly agreeable to letting them borrow the Impala. All Sam had to do was shuffle his feet awkwardly and tell him that they had left  _something_ behind at their last stop, and Dean had held his hands up as if in surrender and handed him the keys.

"You know, I don’t even want to know. I could use an off day anyway."

Sam had thanked him with a promise to be back before midnight and took off, speeding slightly in something that was still embarrassment but bordering on desperation. They got to the motel a little ahead of schedule, and thank God the room hadn’t been cleaned yet. The manager let them in to look, and the duffel was right there on the far bed. Sam had never felt so stupid in his life.

"Just get this thing off me," Cas sighed tersely. Not that Sam could really blame him. This whole little kinky adventure had been a little crazy to say the least.

As soon as he had the chastity belt off and back in the bag, Cas was on him, pushing Sam into the floor and forcing his pants open with a sort of feral intensity that Sam had never seen before and was not expecting.

"Shit, Cas, we gotta get back to Dean."

"Sam," Cas growled, shoving Sam’s pants out of the way enough to take them in hand, both hardening dizzyingly quickly. "I don’t care how, but you are going to make me come right now. And then we’re going to throw that belt away and never think about it again."

And, well, Sam was in no position to argue.


	23. Sastiel (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Castiel really really likes being tied up, so Sam obliges, and leaves him tied up for hours connected to a fucking machine but with a cock ring so he can't come until Sam returns to him a few hours later. Bonus points if his strapped down to the bed with no movement at all and gagged."
> 
> Jesus this is by far the kinkiest thing I have ever written to date, but here it goes:

Sam had been a little out of it all day, finding it difficult to focus on mundane activities such as organising the library and cooking dinner, but he’d somehow, miraculously, managed it. When he finally excused himself to bed, it was a bit desperately, and he all but ran back to his room, slipping inside quickly and locking the door behind him.

Of course, as soon as he was inside, he was the epitome of composure, leaning against the door and drinking in the sight before him:  Cas spread out on their bed, thick leather straps binding his arms to the headboard and his knees to his chest and his hips to the mattress, his hole was stretched obscenely around a thick plastic cock slowly being worked into him by a machine. Sam knew Cas could break out of the restraints at any time, but half the thrill was knowing that Cas was  _letting_ him do this.

But the best part, Sam thought, palming his rapidly hardening cock through his jeans, was the noises Cas was making, his moans obstructed by a ring gag and a plug so all he could do was whimper and tremble with overstimulation.

Cas’s expression was desperate as Sam stripped slowly, taking his good sweet time stepping out of his clothes and making his way over to Cas, kneeling beside him on the bed. From this angle he could see Cas’s cock, hard and leaking against his stomach, a thick metal cockring doing its best to hold off his orgasm. Although, obviously, it wasn’t enough, judging by the come that had already dried on Cas’s abdomen and chest.

Sweat glistened on Cas’s skin, pooling in the folds and cuts of muscle. Sam wanted nothing more than to taste it, and then he remembered that there was nothing stopping him and licked down the line of Cas’s abs, tonguing his belly button and feeling the muscles twitch weakly, Cas whining high in his throat.

"So pretty, Cas," he whispered, his angel keening under the praise. "All strung out for me. Are you ready to come? Again," he added with a dark laugh, picking at the white flakes on Cas’s skin.

Sam reached up and pulled the gag off Cas’s head, mindful of the plug as it slipped past Cas’s lips.  _God_ , Cas’s entire mouth looked wrecked, bright red and swollen, spit-shiny, and Sam couldn’t help but claim that for himself, moaning as Cas’s tongue flicked weakly against his own.

"One more time, Cas," he promised. "One more time and then we’re done. How do you want it?"

"Sam," Cas groaned, his voice absolutely trashed "Sam, please, I need you. I don’t care how."

"Shh, it’s okay, baby, I’ll take care of you, don’t worry. Do you want me in your mouth? Want me to fuck your face while the machine fucks your ass? Or do you want the gag back while I fuck you? Cause you have to have something in your mouth, babe, you get so damn loud."

"Both. I want both."

Sam groaned and seized Cas’s mouth in a searing kiss. It was going to be a long damn night.


	24. Wincestiel (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "I have two words: Wincestiel cuddles. (something super duper fluffy :3 pleeeeease)"
> 
> And let me tell you, I am so psyched to finally be writing Wincestiel.

Sam never woke up to the sun on his face anymore, but he would never in a million years complain about the alternative.

He woke up every morning in a tangle of limbs and bodies and sheets, never really sure who was actually in the middle or whose hand was on his ass. They were all just sort of draped over each other — a pile of warmth in the winter, a puddle of sweat in the summer, but it was always the same idea, if never the same configuration.

One thing that never changed, though, was that Cas insisted on being on one of the ends every night. He didn’t sleep, but he rested well with two wings draping over them protectively and the other two folded under, making sure that his humans were safe and within eyesight before allowing himself to relax fully.

And when Sam woke up every morning, almost always before Dean, he just laid there for a moment, feeling warm and safe and loved surrounded by the two people in the world he couldn’t live without.

Most days — not all, but most — he woke up with Cas at his back and Dean facing him, so close that they were almost breathing each other’s air. Sam liked to count the freckles on Dean’s face as he slept, as difficult as it was under the shade of Cas’s wings, and he got a different number every time.

Cas always waited until Sam was done counting before pressing his lips to the back of his neck, whispering, “Good morning, Sam.”

Sam would hum contentedly before turning his head to kiss Cas properly. That was usually Dean’s cue to groan and mutter something about how they were gross. Today it was different. Today, he stopped pretending to be asleep and griped, “Hey, where’s mine?”

Sam smiled, leaning forward and kissing Dean deeply, just because he knew his brother hated making out with morning breath.

Predictably, Dean shoved him away, complaining about how Sam really needed to brush his teeth before pulling something like that, but his huge smile gave him away.

Then Cas leaned over Sam to press his lips chastely to the corner of Dean’s mouth — “Morning, Dean.” Before the angel could pull away, Dean fisted a hand in his shirt to pull him in for a kiss that was much less innocent.

"Morning, Cas," he replied, pulling away with a  _smack_. “It’s okay to kiss me, you know.  _You_ don’t get morning breath.”

Sam laughed, warm and happy down to his very bones, feeling like he might melt into the sheets if he were any more relaxed. Evidently, Cas and Dean thought so too, because they settled back into their pillows, content to just lay together for a while longer.


	25. Sastiel (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt from booksandwings @ Tumblr: "Sastiel + going to a petting zoo! (Bonus points for either one of them being crowded by any one animal)"

Sam and Cas were walking hand-in-hand, no particular destination in mind, just walking, when Cas suddenly stopped, staring suspiciously at the colourful tents set up across the street.

"Wanna go to the circus, Cas?" Sam had asked curiously, and Cas’s expression immediately cleared.

"Oh, it’s a circus. I wasn’t sure."

"Yeah. Wanna go?"

"I’ve never been to a circus before. What does it entail?"

Sam gripped Cas’s hand tighter, dragging him across the road with a smile. “That’s a fundamental human experience you’re missing, Cas. We  _have_ to go now.” Sam really loved helping Cas experience new things. Part of it was the fact that he, Sam Winchester, the Boy with the Demon Blood, could actually teach something to an angel of the Lord. But most of it was the childlike wonder that Cas always exuded with every new experience, and the pride and infectious happiness that showed blatantly on his face when he finally understood something.

"Sam," Cas said, getting his attention and pointing to a sign that announced that the circus wouldn’t be opening until that weekend.

"That’s fine. Just means we can go with Dean later," Sam assured no less cheerfully then before, looking around as if searching for something specific and smiling when he found it, directing them to the left, towards a large fenced-in area. "This is open."

"What is it?" Cas asked warily as Sam exchanged a couple of bills with a man at the gate for two cups full of feed.

"It’s a petting zoo."

Cas immediately dug his heels into the ground, refusing to move an inch.

"Cas?"

"I don’t think this is a good idea."

"C’mon, Cas, you’re an angel," Sam openly laughed, earning himself one of Cas’s glares. "You’ve faced down Lucifer. You can’t possibly tell me you’re afraid of a bunch of baby animals."

"It’s not that I’m afraid. It’s just — "

"Then let’s go." Sam interrupted, pulling Cas towards him until the angel stumbled into his arms and he could lead them through the gate into the petting zoo.

Almost immediately after stepping inside, every animal fell silent. Then every lamb in the pen began screaming and charging towards them.

Cas didn’t spare a moment, as if he had expected such a thing to happen, shoving himself into the nearest corner and pulling Sam in front of him like a human shield as the lambs surrounded them, trying their best to shove past Sam to get to Cas.

"I told you," the angel muttered at Sam’s back, as if ashamed.

"What the hell is going on?" Sam asked, a little freaked out but no less amused.

"Lambs are very spiritual creatures. They are attracted to my Grace. Like … like a moth to a flame, I suppose."

"Will it hurt them?" Sam asked, feeling his shins beginning to bruise from the sheer force of a dozen baby sheep trying to nose past him.

"Not at all. They just want guidance. I guess a more accurate analogy would be a lighthouse to boats."

Sam looked over his shoulder at the cowering angel, making sure he caught his eye and watching Cas’s widen in realisation. “No, Sam, don’t — “

Sam stepped away as quickly as he could without stepping on any of the lambs. Immediately, they jumped up on Cas, pulling him down to the ground so they could cuddle up against his side, falling silent as they did.

Sam was completely doubled over laughing, trying to take a steady picture with his phone and failing pretty miserably.

"This is not funny, Sam," Cas glared, speaking softly, supposedly so he didn’t startle the lambs. "Now I can’t move."

"Why not?"

Cas lifted his arm in demonstration, and the lambs closest began screaming again, nuzzling his arm until he lowered it back in place.

"Wow, Cas," Sam said, desperately trying not to laugh, his voice trembling with the effort. "You’re an honest to God shepherd, aren’t you?"

Cas frowned. “Is that supposed to be a joke? Because it’s not at all funny.”

"Whatever, sourpuss. I think it’s absolutely adorable."

Sam was still suppressing giggles when he let Cas fly them back to the bunker, an agonising half an hour later. By that point, Cas was threatening to make Sam sleep on the couch, although he was having trouble keeping a smile off his face.


	26. Sastiel (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "omg if you did sassy frottage i'd be so damn happy like sam is wearing these soft loose shorts and just grinding between castiel's ass cheeks while he's pressed into their bed or wall or wherever"

In all the time that Cas had known him, he had  _never_ seen Sam wear shorts. Jeans and slacks and sweatpants, yes, and all were equally sexy, but none of them had anything on the soft cotton shorts that Sam was wearing now. They barely covered half his thigh and were loose enough that Sam had to watch how he sat lest he accidentally flash someone. Not that Cas would be at all against that sight. He couldn’t keep his eyes off Sam’s legs, which seemed longer in the shorts, and his ass, which was as fantastic as usual but was especially accented by the waistband. And fucking hell, Cas swore he could see Sam’s dick where it rested against his thigh.

Cas was by no means being subtle about the way he kept checking Sam out, but the hunter seemed blissfully ignorant, absorbed in his research. Finally, Cas had to call it quits and retire to their bedroom, laying face-down on the sheets and definitely  _not_ sulking.

Much sooner than he had anticipated, Sam followed, locking the door behind him as Cas moved to sit up.

"Stay there," Sam commanded, and Cas’s breath hitched in his throat as he obeyed without thought.

"Did you like what you saw, Cas? Bet you can’t wait to get your hands on me."

“ _Sam_ ,” Cas groaned, feeling the mattress shift and Sam’s weight settle over him.

"I saw you staring," Sam continued, somehow reaching under them to pop the button on Cas’s slacks and force them down with his briefs, leaving his ass bare. Cas heard Sam moving behind him but couldn’t place the sound until Sam took Cas’s cheeks in both his hands, kneading them gently before separating them and running his cock up the crack.

"Oooh,  _shit_ _,”_ Cas groaned. “Sam, you’re not — ?”

"Not gonna fuck you, Cas," Sam growled, letting the head of his cock catch on Cas’s hole as it passed, making the angel whine and writhe. "You got enough of an eyefull today, don’t you think?"

Cas didn’t respond; he couldn’t, a little preoccupied with humping the bedsheets, praying that Sam would let up just a little so he could get more leverage.

Instead Sam pulled back just enough to straddle his legs and drape himself over Cas’s back, nipping and sucking at the skin of his neck. “Close your legs,” he ordered, and Cas obeyed. Sam groaned when he slid between Cas’s cheeks again, tight as they were now. Cas was caught between thrusting back into Sam and forward into the sheets, panting and whining into the pillow, desperate for something,  _anything_ more than he was getting.

"Can you come like this, Cas?" Sam breathed right by his ear. "I want you to come, just like this. Nothing else."

Cas wasn’t sure if he could, but damn it all if he wasn’t going to try.


	27. Sastiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Sastiel and streetfighting? Idk why but I have this craving to see them bloody and then making out"
> 
> I really really liked writing this one.
> 
> Warnings for blood, violence, sex, and really bad street fighting representation.

The first and only rule of street fighting was that there were no rules. It was good old no-holds-barred, everything-goes, the-fight’s-not-over-until-one-person-is-out-cold-or-dead fist fighting. A year and a day ago, Sam would have avoided the scene at all costs, but it was a year ago that Dean had been hospitalised just before a big fight, and Sam had had to step in as his second. After that first fight — feeling the rush of adrenaline, the cuts and bruises that meant he could only improve, the soreness in his limbs the next day, like from an intense workout but with a story — there was no going back. ‘since then, Sam had made a name for himself as the Boy King, the youngest undefeated champion on the streets of Kansas.

That title did come with a bit of a footnote, though. Although he had never actually been defeated, there was one fighter he just couldn’t beat. He was called Castiel, and whether that was his alias or his real name, it was really fucking weird, especially since Sam actually understood where it came from, and who the hell names himself after an angel in a street fighting ring? And if that wasn’t strange enough, he wore a white dress shirt everywhere, only rolling up the sleeves to fight, and although he was relatively small compared to all the other fighters, he packed on hell of a punch. No one seemed to know where Castiel came from or where he went afterwards, but he always showed up, and when he did, he was only interested in fighting Sam.

A hard hit to his jaw brought Sam out of his thoughts, sending him stumbling back a couple of steps. He heard his brother’s shout from somewhere in the crowd, “ _Fuckin’ hell, Sammy, where’s your head?_ ”

Sam worked his jaw to be sure it wasn’t broken, dodging another hit and landing his own squarely in Castiel’s gut. Castiel was worked over pretty well, with several cuts, a swollen cheek, and a brilliant gash on his forehead that was dripping blood into his eyes. Sam knew he wasn’t a pretty picture either, as one of his eyes had been swollen almost completely shut early in the fight.

As Castiel gasped for breath, Sam quickly checked the sky. Fights ended when at least one opponent was rendered incapable of fighting. Unless the fight was between the Boy King and Castiel; then it ended when the sun broke the horizon, because they always lasted that long and were always indeterminate, even if they were both dragging themselves home at the end of the night.

The sky to the east was lightening. Sam guessed he only had an hour at most, so he went for the legs, knocking Castiel on his back before pinning him there and going to town, but one of his knees was sprained, and Castiel used that to his advantage, jerking his shoulder just right so Sam’s leg twisted and he let him go with a yowl of pain. They grappled on the ground, neither of them holding the upper hand for long, loose gravel digging into their skin, and they would have gone on until sunrise had someone not heard sirens and immediately shouted, “SHIT IT’S THE COPS! RUN!”

Sam immediately climbed to his feet, acting on deeply-ingrained instinct, ignoring the pain in his leg and the stitches in his side, and ran. He didn’t know where, just away. He vaguely registered that Dean wasn’t with him, but Castiel still was, but he wasn’t concerned. Until the collective pain began to slow him down and the sirens sounded dangerously close.

"In here!" Castiel growled, forcibly pulling him through the doorway of a condemned building and pressing him against the wall as police cars passed. Sam took a moment to catch his breath and counted the seconds as the sirens gradually got too far away to hear.

It was only after he got to sixty seconds that he relaxed, and noticed how Castiel’s body was still pressed against his own.

"Uh, Castiel," Sam laughed. "Dude, you can get off now. They’re gone."

But if the smouldering look Castiel was giving him was any indication, he wasn’t going to move any time soon. And, well, Sam was still buzzing with adrenaline from the fight and the chase. He might as well do something with it.

That’s how he justified smothering Castiel’s mouth with his own, sucking and biting with no mind to his split lip. But apparently that wasn’t enough for Castiel because he growled and spun Sam to face the wall, forcing a hand between his shoulder blades to keep him there as he bit at the grimy skin of Sam’s back until he groaned and couldn’t help his hips grinding forward into the brick. Castiel rubbed against him in turn, and Sam realised that they were both achingly hard. Suddenly, it wasn’t about the violence or the endorphins anymore; it was about getting off. Castiel shoved a hand down Sam’s jeans, fisting Sam’s cock while seeming content to just grind against his ass, their orgasms building almost unnoticed beneath the adrenaline and lust until they both exploded creamy white into their trousers. 

They both took a moment to catch their breath again, Castiel taking his hand back and wiping it on Sam’s legs. He was too far gone to even complain.

"Castiel," he laughed softly, slowly growing hysterical as he realised what just happened. "What the hell was that?"

Castiel stepped away so Sam could turn and face him, slumping slightly against the wall. “I believe we just — “

"No, I know what we did! I guess a better question would be whether that’s something you’d like to do again."

"Of course," Castiel answered immediately. "Although, admittedly, something a little more coordinated would be better."

Sam laughed again, more than a little loudly as the chemicals began to leave his system and his pain was increased tenfold. Still, he kept himself standing. “What does that mean for us? I mean, are you still gonna fight me, or do  _this_?”

"I don’t see why we can’t do both."

"What’s the saying? Make love and war?"

"Beat them then join them," Castiel smiled, and Sam giggled, realising that was the first time he had seen Castiel wear any kind of expression.

Castiel held out his hand for Sam to shake, and Sam took it, neither of them mindful of their bleeding knuckles. ”I’ll see you later, Boy King,” he said with an air of finality.

"Sam," he corrected.

"Cas."

"Til next time, Cas," Sam promised, nodding to his fellow fighter before pulling back his hand and limping off to find his brother.


	28. Wincest (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "wincest where Sam is Dean's taste tester for the dinner he's making"

Dean’s cooking wasn’t just good; it was  _amazing_. They had found several old cookbooks in some of the kitchen cupboards, and Dean had immediately set out to try every recipe, making little notes in the margins about what they liked and didn’t like, what spices might work better, suggesting longer cooking times. It was such a little detail of their lives, but it never failed to make Sam smile to see his brother working in the kitchen, scribbling in his books.

After one too many times of being caught staring with a dopey expression on his face, Dean had insisted that cooking become something they do together. Sometimes Sam helped chop vegetables or stir pasta — small jobs that didn’t take a culinary master to do — but more often than not, he sat on the sidelines until the meal was almost done, perched on the counted beside the stove as Dean stirred and flipped and spiced until it was ready to be tasted.

Tonight it was chili, with kidney beans but only because Sam had begged. Chili wasn’t chili without kidney beans, no matter what Dean said. Sam licked his lips as Dean added a dash of this and a pinch of that to the pot, stirring in figure eights like one of the books had told him was best. Sam’s mouth was already watering, and the chili still needed to simmer for another hour.

Finally, Dean scooped up a bit in his ladle and blew on it until it was relatively cool, raising it to Sam’s lips for him to taste, just like always. He sipped carefully and groaned as the taste exploded on his tongue, never mind the heat. It was delicious, just like always.

"Well?" Dean asked.

Sam didn’t answer, pulling Dean in for a kiss so Dean could taste for himself, licking a bit of stray sauce from Sam’s lips before tasting the rest on his tongue, just like always.

"Needs more chili powder," Dean commented as he pulled away. "It’s too sweet."

"Nah," Sam objected playfully. "That’s just me."

"Wow, Sam. I think that’s the cheesiest thing you’ve ever said to me."

"The cheese doesn’t go in until later. Even  _I_ know that.”

 _“_ Oh my God, Sam, stop.”

"Make me."

The look Dean gave him was something like a threat, the one Sam shot back was pure challenge, and they spent the hour making out against the counter. Just like always


	29. Sastiel (G)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Sastiel annnnnd eating ice cream together. can it be fluffy?"
> 
> Yes, anon. Of course it can be fluffy.

"C’mon, open up."

Cas sighed and rolled his eyes. As much as he loved Sam, his tolerance was growing thin. “No.”

"Just a little taste."

"Sam. It all tastes the same." Sam had been trying to find a food that Cas could enjoy for weeks. His first attempt had been burgers, considering that’s what he craved when Famine was affecting him. When that didn’t go over well, he tried foods that Cas had never tried before. Hot foods, cool foods, filling foods, snack foods, soups, sandwiches, pastas. Cas hadn’t particularly enjoyed any of it.

This time Sam had returned with a bowl of ice cream and had promptly laid himself over Cas so he couldn’t escape.

"You’ll like this. I promise."

Cas eyed Sam warily, his resolve already growing thin. “I haven’t liked anything else. What makes you think this will be different?”

"Just trust me. Please?" And there it was:  The wide, sad eyes and slight pout that Dean called his "Puppy Dog Eyes." Fitting, considering the expression’s resemblance to that of a kicked puppy. Regardless of whether he was expecting it or not, Cas always gave in when Sam turned the look his way, and the angel cursed himself every time.

"Fine," he acquiesced, although if he were honest, the huge grin he got in return was more than worth it.

Sam held the spoon full of ice cream up to Cas’s mouth, and he obediently took a bite, immediately gasping as it hit his tongue. It tasted just like everything else had, but it was different this time. It was’t just the taste, it was the texture and the consistency and the temperature. The ice cream melted quickly in his mouth, but the chill lingered on his tongue and throat, enhanced tenfold with every inhale. Cas imagined it felt like his own personal winter winds in his airways.

Then Sam pressed their lips together, and Cas couldn’t help his little “oh!” of surprise. The contrast of Sam’s warmth versus his chill was dizzying in the best possible way.

"So?" Sam asked with a knowing smile. "Do you like it?"

Cas had to take a moment to compose himself in order to properly form an answer, his head still spinning slightly.

"Well, it tasted no different," Cas replied stubbornly. Sam just laughed and passed him the bowl.


	30. Wincest (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "Wincest with bondage / soft SM / toyplay. Sam tying Dean up and teasing him (with a feather, toys, wax, whatever you like). Bonus points if Dean gets blindfolded :)"
> 
> This might be a bit kinkier than the anon wanted.

They didn’t take their time like this often. It was risky, for one thing, even in a place as secure as the bunker. For another, most of the time they didn’t feel like it. There were a million other ways to have sex without restraints and safewords. But occasionally, they got an itch for it, an insatiable desire for control, or to be controlled.

This time it was Sam holding the reins, keeping Dean strung out for hours with a vibrator lodged against his prostate until every defiant nerve in his body had finally submitted, Dean pliant under Sam’s hands as he secured his brother’s bound wrists above his head.

"Do you trust me?" Sam asked. He always ended up asking a lot of questions when he was in charge — _Is this okay? This isn’t too much is it? Do you trust me?_ — All Dean had to do was ask Sam to stop and he would. He would untie him and they’d probably blow each other before falling asleep tangled in each other.

But not satisfied.

Dean nodded silently, submissively, allowing Sam to tie a piece of cloth around his eyes. He could still feel Sam at his side, radiating heat and comfort. Dean didn’t entertain the thought often, but he sometimes wondered if Sam was really the boy king Hell really wanted. Even in a position of absolute power, he was so gentle and empathetic.

Dean didn’t ever know what to expect from Sam when they did this. Sometimes it was gentle, teasing touches. Other times it was a bit more dangerous — knife play or choking. But it was always good.

The last thing he expected was what felt like an icicle sliding up his legs, between his cheeks and pressing against his hole. Dean hissed and instinctively jerked away from the cold, but Sam stilled him with an arm around his waist and a kiss to his shoulder.

"Shh, it’s okay. Let me." And of course Dean did. He would let Sam do anything to him, not that he had much of a choice at the moment.

He nodded his consent, and the ice pressed inside, stretching Dean wide enough to burn, and damn if that wasn’t confusing. Of course, it wasn’t really ice, Dean realised. That would be too easy. Ice melted; this was a toy. Not that it mattered much. Either way, Dean had never felt so cold in his life, and he whined at the intrusion.

"Okay?" Sam asked softly pulling it out again and waiting for Dean’s nod before continuing. "There’s more." Then Sam stepped away, and Dean whined again at the loss until he heard the flick of a lighter, smelled a bit of smoke, and felt the air in front of him grow warmer. That was all, then Sam was back, kissing him gently.

"Safeword?"

"Christo," Dean replied obediently.

"Good. There are candles in front of you, Dean. Be careful."

Dean didn’t get it a first. Then the cold was back, pressing into him again, and he jumped forward, right into the flames. And Christ, he was so confused for a moment that he didn’t even register the pain until Sam pulled him back by his shoulder.

So that was the game they were playing. Sam fucked him slowly, teasingly, with the toy, and it was so cold. It should have been he exact opposite of arousing, but Dean’s body was so confused, burning at the front and freezing in the back, sweat running over the goosebumps on his skin. He was so overwhelmed, he barely noticed the lust coiling tighter in his stomach until Sam wrapped a hand around him, peppering his back with kisses, and Dean came with a violent shiver. Sam rubbed against him, and that was apparently all it took because he was immediately pulling the toy out and extinguishing the candles before untying Dean. Dean was so loose, his senses still jumbled and his mind numb, that he just fell into Sam’s waiting arms, letting him guide them slowly to the bed and keeping his eyes closed as the blindfold was removed.

Sam pressed him into the mattress gently, covering him with the comforter and kissing him slow and gentle, as if Dean were a precious fragile thing, and Dean was so sated that he didn’t even want to complain.

"It wasn’t too much?" Sam asked, worried as always.

"It was amazing," Dean assured, curling around his brother, resting his head on his chest and soaking in his warmth. Sam took the hint and relaxed as their breathing slowed and their pulses synced.


	31. Sastiel (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's connection to Cas allows him to see his wings and halo.
> 
> Alternatively, Cas has magic jizz.

When Sam asks, and he asks often, Cas tells him that wings and halos are manifestations of Grace, ones that they have limited control of, and that is why humans cannot sense them in any way. They would be blinded by the sight and burned at the touch. All the same, Sam imagines he can feel them sometimes — the gentle brush of wings around him as he presses himself closer to his angel, the heat of the halo as he runs his fingers through Castiel’s hair, tasting Grace on his tongue, seeing the weight at Cas’s back as he walks and the shining light behind his eyes. Even though Cas tells him it is impossible — “They are on an entirely different plane of existence, Sam. You cannot sense them.” — he is not so sure.

Then one day, Sam is riding Cas slowly and leisurely, all the time in the world to make it mean something, like they haven’t since the first time. They’ve just been too busy. But now Sam can drag it out as long as he pleases, looking down at his angel fondly as they both fall to pieces under each other’s hands. And Cas doesn’t have any time for a warning before he’s coming hard, deep inside Sam. There’s a bright light that neither of them pay much notice to; Sam just thinks it’s his vision whiting out with his orgasm, but then he blinks, and the light is still burned into his retinas. He can’t see a thing.

"Sam?" Cas asks, immediately concerned as he sits up and cradles Sam’s face.

Sam’s immediate reaction is to panic, but he shoves that to the side for the time being. He blinks rapidly, and the afterimage begins to fade, much to his relief. “I’m fine, Cas,” he assures, reaching out half-blindly and landing on Cas’s shoulder, squeezing gently and smiling.

"What’s the problem?"

"There  _is_  no problem. I said I was fine. Now relax.” He used the hand on Cas’s shoulder to push him back into the bed gently, pulling himself off Cas’s lap with a hiss and feeling his way to lay beside him. Cas was a warm and comforting presence at his side, and Sam let himself relax despite his temporary lack of vision. He rubbed at his eyes, and that seemed to help a little, the afterimage shrinking behind his eyelids.

"Is it your eyes?"

"Cas, will you please stop worrying? Look, it’s better already." To demonstrate, Sam opened his eyes, intending to meet Cas’s, but his eyes settled just over Cas’s shoulder instead, and he openly gasped.

"Sam? What is it? What’s wrong?"

Sam just shook his head, absolutely stunned. “I … I can  _see_  them, Cas,” he breathed. He reached behind Cas to touch what looked like a shadow, only much more tangible. It felt like mist on his skin and tingled when he pulled back. “Cas, I can  _feel_  them! And — ” His hand travelled upwards, hovering just behind Cas’s head where a small circle of yellow light illuminated them with its soft glow. It would be almost invisible in the daylight, and it felt warm, like the air in front of a lightbulb that’s been on for hours.

"Sam?"

He reluctantly tore his eyes away to meet Cas’s. The angel looked intensely concerned for Sam’s sanity. “What can you feel?”

"Your wings!" Sam whispered in awe, his face breaking into a wide smile. "And — and your halo. Cas, I can actually see them!"

"That’s impossible."

"Evidently not."

"Describe them to me."

The first word out of Sam’s mouth was “Beautiful,” and any other time he would take a moment to be embarrassed, but it was true. “They’re kind of see-through. Your wings look like a dove’s, but dark and … flowey. Like a shadow, kind of. And your halo reminds me of a solar system with a bright yellow star in the middle.”

Instead of being reassured, Cas’s frown deepened. “How can you see them?”

"I don’t know, Cas, but I don’t care either. This is amazing. Is it permanent?"

"I don’t know. I’ve never heard of anything like this happening before. I could certainly look into it."

"Don’t worry about it." Sam spared one more look at what he could see of Cas’s Grace, savouring the sight and committing it to memory, just in case there were gone when he woke up, before curling into Cas and tangling their legs together. "If it’s temporary," he muttered into Cas’s clavicle, "That’s fine. If it’s not, even better. Let’s just let this run its course. I like being able to see all of you, anyway."

"This is not all of me."

Sam rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around his angel’s waist and hoping he’d take the hint. “As much as I can. You can see my soul and into my head and everything. I like being able to see what I can.”

Cas didn’t reply, but that was fine. What was one supposed to say in this situation anyway? At least he didn’t seem too concerned anymore. Sam just relaxed back into the sheets and smiled softly as he felt Cas’s arms settle around him, sleep creeping around the edges of his mind.

"Hey, Cas?" Sam slurred softly, one last question before he fell asleep. "Will I be able to see all of you in Heaven?"

Sam vaguely registered Cas smoothing his hair back and kissing his forehead. “I’m not sure. I guess we’ll find out when you get there.”

Sam rather enjoyed the idea of Cas visiting him in Heaven, wondering if it would be the Cas he recognised now or a great unfathomable being the size of the Chrysler Building, wings and halo included. Perhaps they’d spend time in one of his happier memories, curled together in a field while at the other end store-bought fireworks exploded in the sky. That was the thought that carried Sam into sleep as what felt like a thin mist that made his skin tingle settled around his shoulders.


	32. Sastiel (T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam really likes words. Cas introduces him to some new ones.

Sam liked to collect words. It had started when he was much, much younger and still in school, when he came across the word  _loquacious_  and was delighted to discover that it was just another word for  _talkative_. He used the word whenever he could in conversation, half because it annoyed Dean and half because it felt good to feel his mouth form the word, his jaw moving around the wide vowels so each syllable could tumble past his lips.

After that he was hooked, collecting words like lint. He went through several phases with his collection -- there was a time when he was particularly fond of phobias and philias, another when he was more interested in the words' etymology. Now, he was fixated on words that described abstract ideas. It helped that Cas only encouraged his obsession, leaving Sam sticky notes around the bunker with particularly interesting words he had stumbled across. He left it to Sam to decide which words were suitable for his vocabulary. Sam adopted almost all of them.

For instance, one morning Sam found  _psithurism_ on his trainers as he prepared for a jog. Later he dragged Cas out of the bunker to listen to the wind whistling through the trees in the forest in its early autumn symphony.

Sam returned home from a hunt to find Cas asleep with his face buried in Sam's pillow,  _sillage_ written on a note in the opposite corner. Now Sam sometimes purposely left behind flannels that Cas could wear as bedclothes.

When Sam noticed Cas eyeing him strangely and asked what was up, rather than answering, the angel's eyes flitted towards where Dean sat at the other side of the room, and he passed Sam his notepad, where  _apodyopsis_ was written at the top of the first page. Later, when Sam was trying to let Cas undress him for real, he couldn't escape Cas's lips long enough to get his shirt off and laughed.

"Can't help it, Sam," the angel mouthed against his neck. "You make me  _basorexic."_

Sam assured Cas he could kiss him whenever he wanted.

Then just that morning, when Sam woke up, he stretched, and a yellow sticky note fluttered down from where it had been resting on his shoulder. He picked it up and squinted at the word  _querencia_ before smiling fondly. He was well aware of this word and was very well acquainted with the idea it represented. He looked over at the sleeping angel beside him and kissed him gently before sticking the note on Cas's chest and snuggling closer, feeling a bout of  _clinomania_  settling in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> psithurism -- the sound of wind whistling through trees  
> sillage -- a trail or space one leaves behind when they are gone, particularly a scent  
> apodyopsis -- the act of undressing someone with one's mind  
> basorexic -- incredible urge to kiss or neck  
> querencia -- one's one true home, where they are most comfortable and most themself  
> clinomania -- urge to stay in bed


End file.
